


Through it All

by WholockHobbit88



Series: Little Sherlock and John [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ABDL, Age Play, Daddy!John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Illnesses, M/M, Medical Procedures, Non-Sexual Age Play, baby!Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/WholockHobbit88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock goes in for a routinue check up, the doctors worry he might have cancer. Emotionally devestated over the possiblity of his health, Sherlock uses his little side to escape from the worries and John does all he can to help Sherlock through this time, along with special help from Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story mentions medical testing/ serious illness/ cancer so just be aware of that. There is still plenty of age play related cuteness but still plenty of angst as well.

John heaved a sigh of fatigue, feeling emotional tiredness make its way through his body as he heard the high pitched cry coming from what sounded like the vicinity of Sherlock's room, followed by several loud thuds that sounded like heavy objects hitting the wall. John zipped his trousers quickly; he couldn't even go to the bathroom for a minuet without there being an issue. But John knew this wasn't something that he could get away from; that's what made it all the harder to deal with.

John walked down the hallway, the sound of the screaming and the thumps of the objects growing until they reached a defying level; John honestly didn't know how Sherlock could keep up this level of sound all day. But, he seemed to be defying a lot of ideals John already had made up about him. When John came into Sherlock's bedroom he found him lying on his back on the floor of his bedroom, throwing anything within reach, kicking his feet and yelling so loudly that his face was nearly purple with exertion. Tears were drying on his face and mostly his cries were dry now; it was all he had left. John dodged a shoe as it flew past him to hit the doorframe.

"Sherlock, love…what are you doing?" John asked gently. He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of the screaming but he knew a shouting match would get him nowhere.

Sherlock turned to look at him, his only response a particularly loud shriek before he turned on his belly, pounding his fists against the floor before crumpling on his face. The sight of it made John's heart clench and his stomach churn with silent pain he had to hold in.

Normally this kind of behavior would warrant nothing but a severe spanking. Sherlock had been nearly nonverbal all day, crying and screaming at the slightest provocation. He threw things, tried to bite John and had hidden from him when he called for him. But spankings and punishments in general were to help break down Sherlock's defenses and today Sherlock was more than broken and he didn't need a punishment. He was worried; John could see that. He was so consumed with his worry that he couldn't properly do or say anything and it made John want to help him. He couldn't think about his own worry on the matter; if he gave into his thoughts, he would be on the floor next to Sherlock screaming.

Swallowing a lump of worry, John walked over to Sherlock and sat on the floor next to him. Risking a hit or kick, John forcefully turned Sherlock over so that his face was looking up at John. Remarkably, Sherlock stopped crying long enough to look up at John with his big, glassy heartbreaking eyes. His lip wobbled, his face a mask of sorrow. John could smell the undeniable scent of a dirty nappy; stunningly, Sherlock's third of the day. His stomach, along with the rest of his body, was wrecked with worry.

John ran a loving hand across Sherlock's forehead, his hand coming back wet with sweat. "Need Daddy to change your nappy?" he asked, knowing the answer without asking.

Sherlock's lip trembled, his face turning red as he grew embarrassed. John hated to see it; he knew that Sherlock never messed in his nappies unless he was under physical or emotional stress but that didn't stop him from feeling guilty about it. "I do it….." Sherlock said, his voice raw and rough after all of the screaming and crying of the day.

The response made John feel even worse; Sherlock was so embarrassed about his current predicament that was going to try to change his own nappy. That simply wouldn't do; John was so worried and emotionally distraught himself that all he wanted to do was attend to every single of Sherlock's needs and hold him. His fits all day had made that extremely difficult. "You will do no such thing" John said firmly, sealing the matter. "You are a little boy and it is daddy's job to change your nappies"

"You mad?" Sherlock asked, looking nervous and uncertain.

John placed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead before pulling back to look at him. "I am not the least bit mad. I just want to take care of you, love."

John helped Sherlock off of the floor and helped him toward the bathroom. They were both ignoring the elephant in the room; they both knew exactly that they both hurting and yet they wouldn't say anything to acknowledge it.

Cancer…the word hung unspoken between them like a silent poison. When Sherlock had gone in for a routine checkup (only because Daddy insisted that he get checked up every year, part of the rules) his results had come back 'suspect'. The doctors were purposely vague but John knew what it could mean. Sherlock was to go in for a minor surgical procedure the next day to perform a biopsy and until then they wouldn't know anything specific.

Sherlock had refused to even speak about it at all; John's world had come crashing down around him, seeming in slow motion and painfully harsh at the prospect that he could actually lose his precious baby. John could see the look of worry and concern on his face; when he had tried to push him to talk, Sherlock had stormed away and locked the door behind him. He'd been in a foul mood ever since, spending it entirely in little space, his behavior getting worse and worse every day, culminating in his out of control behavior today. John did his best to accept Sherlock's terrible and hurtful comments and behavior; he knew Sherlock well enough to know that he didn't mean it. He was overwhelmed with his feelings and, like a child, didn't know how to deal with them.

All the same, John still wished that he and Sherlock could actually have a talk about what they were feeling. John was consumed with worry; maybe this could all be nothing. Maybe it was just a scare….but maybe it wasn't. John could only obsess about the possibility that Sherlock could actually be seriously ill. It was all he could think about and yet he couldn't voice any of his worries; he knew he had to be strong for Sherlock's sake.

By the time that they got to the bathroom, Sherlock was crying quietly again, shuffling miserably in his dirty nappy. His face was a mask of embarrassment and John hushed him quietly, trying to console him that he was alright and he had no reason to be embarrassed.

John helped Sherlock step into the shower as he removed his dirty nappy. Turning the water on warm, John detached the showerhead and sprayed Sherlock gently clean, running a flannel over his irritated skin. John worked quickly through the task and turned off the water. When he grabbed a towel to dry Sherlock's bottom half off, he was crying in earnest now, his face red and his eyes completely swollen and irritated.

"Hey…it's alright" John said in a quiet voice, grabbing a dry towel and using it to dry Sherlock's face. "You're all cleaned up and we'll get you a new nappy. Alright?" John knew that Sherlock wasn't really upset about his dirty nappy but it was the one thing that John could assure him of.

Sherlock nodded, still looking miserable.

"Do you need to sit on the toilet? Is your stomach feeling alright?" John asked gently. He knew that Sherlock was having accidents because his stomach was wrecked with nerves but that didn't mean that he wanted to clean it up again if it could be helped.

The insinuation set Sherlock off. "I don't need to go! It was just an accident! I didn't mean to!" he said, stamping his foot in classic tantrum form. He started crying again even though he was wilting against John as if he simply didn't have the strength to even cry anymore.

"I know sweetie, I was just checking" John soothed, rubbing Sherlock's back. "I know your tummy is upset. Let's get you a nappy and have a lie down, okay love?"

Sherlock whimpered against John and he took it as a yes. John helped Sherlock out of the tub and walked him back to his bedroom to get changed. Sherlock practically fell back on the bed, spent from his screaming and crying of the day. His eyes fluttered as John put the dry nappy on him. Looking around the room, John found Sherlock's blankie in the floor and a dummy on the side table to soothe him with. John closed the curtains and turned on some calming music, intent on Sherlock having a nap; with the way he looked right now, John was sure that he wouldn't fight him.

John lay on the bed behind Sherlock, popping the dummy into his mouth and handing him his blankie. He put his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close, running a calming hand through Sherlock's hair. He was so nervous, so terrified that John could feel him shaking and it broke John's heart. At the same time, it gave John a brilliant idea.

"Let's have a nap, sweetheart" John whispered, leaning close to Sherlock's ear, still stroking his hair. "You're so tired, just let your body relax and have a nap. And then, when you wake up and feel better, Daddy will have a surprise for you."

Sherlock's eyes were already closed; he was well on his way to sleep. "Surprise?" he asked quietly around his dummy.

"Yes" John said happily, "But first you needed to sleep. Sleep and feel better and Daddy will take care of everything."

Sherlock said no more and in less than two minutes he went limp in John's arms, his mouth slack and dummy hanging out like it did when he was deeply asleep. John breathed a small sigh of relief. Sherlock had to be completely exhausted and John hoped that when he woke up he might be feeling more capable of handling his emotions in a less destructive manner.

John, on the other hand, was consumed now. With Sherlock unconscious and unaware of his inner turmoil, he could let it show on his face. John looked down at the peaceful, sleeping form of his little boy, his best friend, his true soul mate, his heart skipped a beat with pain. What on earth would he do if Sherlock really was sick? What if he really had cancer? How painful would it be to watch him get sicker and sicker or if the unthinkable happened and he passed away? John couldn't bear to consider it a possibility; surely a universe that had brought the two of them together in such a perfect love couldn't take them apart. The last six years of his life, life after meeting Sherlock, were the best of his life. He needed and deserved decades more before they were pulled apart.

Knowing a distraction would do himself as good as it would Sherlock, John got out of bed and went to make the preparations needed for when Sherlock would wake up.

….

John was bouncing his legs, both in nervousness and excitement as he flipped through the telly channels and waited for Sherlock to wake up. He was eager to see how Sherlock would take to his plans; he was sure it would bring a smile to his face and that's all John wanted. Tomorrow would be tears and worries but tonight could be happy.

John was glad when he heard the sound of movement down the hallway and turned around to see a dreary looking Sherlock, hair wild, nappy slightly sagging, walking down the hallway. He clutched his blankie with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other and John was sure this was when he was at his most adorable.

"Good afternoon sweetie" John said, opening his arms for Sherlock to join him. Sherlock shuffled over to where John sat and gladly climbed into his lap, sucking lazily on his dummy as he slowly began to wake up. They sat in the chair, John gently rocking him in the soft afternoon sunlight streaming through the window before Sherlock popped his dummy out, looped his arms around John's neck and spoke. "What's my surprise, daddy?" he asked with a mischievous grin. His cheeks were pink, spittle around his lips from the dummy, twirling his blankie around his finger. John's heart melted; god…..how did regular people have relationships that didn't involve something so pure and good? How had he ever managed without it?

"Well….."John said with a smile, bouncing Sherlock on his knees as long as his bad leg would permit. "We are going to have an all about Sherlock day today. We are going to get ice cream and go to the park to play. And then we are going to the play place restaurant for dinner. And, the best part is that Mycroft helped me arrange all of this so we have the place to ourselves so you can be as little as you like"

Sherlock was bouncing with excitement until he heard John mention Mycroft. "You….told Mycroft about it?" he asked uncertainly.

John had had some trepidation about that as well. Sherlock had to be careful about being little in public; he and John had quite a reputation now. They were really beginning to get quite famous and they couldn't have a tabloid pick apart Sherlock's infantilism; it would have been devastating. John had gone out on a limb to ask Mycroft to use his powers of influence to gain privacy at these places for a few hours. Mycroft, who not only knew of Sherlock's little side but was aware of the cancer scare, was only too happy to help out. John was extremely grateful. He was also extremely surprised when Mycroft had wanted to come to the dinner with them. John had of course agreed but he didn't know how Sherlock would feel about it.

"Yes I did" John explained. "Mycroft was a really good help. Now you can dress up and play and not worry about anything."

"But…..but….."Sherlock began to whine. He had always been under the impression, maybe correctly, that Mycroft would belittle Sherlock's small side.

"He's your brother and he wants to spend time with you. He's not going to make fun of you, I promise" John assured him. John pulled him close in a hug, taking in his scent of light baby powder and fabric softener on his shirt.

"Me and Nana and Mycroft and you are going to all have a good evening together" John assured him. "Now, you can wear anything at all out that you would like this time. What do you think you'd like to wear?"

That succeeded in getting Sherlock off of the subject of Mycroft and his worries. "Oh! I want to wear my pirate dungarees!" Sherlock said, happily clapping again and it bought a smile to John's face.

"Well come on little pirate. Let's get dressed" John said excitedly. Sherlock jumped off his lap and ran down the hallway toward the bedroom, bouncing as he went. John caught up with him quickly, finding Sherlock already in the closet pulling out his dungarees with the pirate ship embroidered on the front. He had a matching black stripes onesie and pirate hat to go along with it. John had gotten it for him for his last birthday and he'd only ever gotten to wear it around the flat. Sherlock was bouncing up and down with excitement, holding his clothes in his hands.

"Come here and let daddy help you get dressed" John said, smiling at the sight of how excited Sherlock was. Sherlock bounced across the room and sat on the bed, handing the clothes to John. John checked Sherlock's nappy before dressing him; a little wet but still good and very thankfully not messy. He slipped the onesie on him before helping Sherlock get his long legs into the dungarees. As a final touch, John placed the pirate hat on his head and stood back to admire the absolutely, heart melting adorable sight of pirate Sherlock.

"Oh wow…"John said, admiring him, the tones of admiration in his voice completely genuine.

"What, daddy?" Sherlock asked, bouncing on the bed. He definitely had more energy now that he had slept.

John leaned down and gave Sherlock a kiss on the forehead. "I just think you are the cutest thing and I can't wait to show you off" John said enthusiastically. He reached for Sherlock's hand, taking it in his own. "Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

John realized that ice cream was probably the last thing Sherlock's sensitive stomach needed, given his messing accidents earlier. But watching Sherlock, sitting beside him on the park bench, licking and biting at a three tiered chocolate ice cream cone was a sight too adorable for him to be too bothered by it.

The weather was perfect; warm but with enough of a breeze that one didn't get too hot. They had ordered ice cream and taken it to the Mycroft arranged park and the only sound in the balmy summer air was the birds, distant traffic and the sound of Sherlock desecrating his ice cream next to John. John looked over to see Sherlock, chocolate all over his face, the end of his cone dripping onto his knee. John had to laugh around his own ice cream cone.

Sherlock, too enthralled by the treat, didn't even seem to notice. "How's that ice cream, Sherlock?" John asked with a slight laugh as he watched a puddle of ice cream form on his knee run down his leg.

"Great!" Sherlock said enthusiastically, nodding his head. "You never let me get ice cream…..hardly ever and when you do I never get this much!"

"Today is a special day" John said, his voice calm and relaxed as he could make it. He knew, and he knew that Sherlock did too, why he was allowed so much ice cream today. John wasn't going to comment on it and he knew that Sherlock didn't expect him to.

They finished the last of their ice cream in silence. As soon as Sherlock was done, he jumped up from the bench, wiping his sticky hands on his shorts. "Time to go play! Time to go play! Push me on the swings, Daddy!"

John loved to see the enthusiasm and excitement on his face and he was only too happy to oblige. Sherlock could probably get him to do anything today. "Go on, Daddy's right behind you" John said. Less than a second later, Sherlock had taken off and was running down the hill toward the swing set, running with total abandonment, arms flailing in the air. John wanted to tell himself that that was hardly the energy level of someone who had a deadly illness but his stomach reminded him painfully with anxiety that that wasn't always the case.

By the time that John got to Sherlock he was already sitting on one of the swings, digging his converse clad feet into the sand under the swing set. When he saw John he pushed up, a smile spreading across his face. "Yippee! Swing time!" he said.

"You hold on tight little one, Daddy's making you go all the way to the top!" John said, clapping his hands together in excitement.

"Oh boy!" Sherlock said, grabbing the chains on the swing with a white knuckle grip as John gave him a firm push on the swing. Sherlock squealed with delight and John was happy. Even if he was worried in a secret corner of his brain, he was happy because Sherlock was happy. Sherlock had always wanted to go to a playground like this but for obvious reasons he had never been able to.

"Higher daddy! Higher!" Sherlock said between squeals of delight and laughs. John pushed him as hard as he could, wanting to give his little boy the impression that he was flying. It wasn't all that ease to push a six foot tall grown adult man on the swings and make him go all the way but John would try until his arms fell off.

"I'm a bird! I'm flying, Daddy!" Sherlock trilled as the swing reached the top, making him stall slightly at the stop before he fell back to earth.

John's heart felt warmed. "Make sure you hold on still, little bird" John reminded him gently. He looked up into the bright sunny sky, dots tinting his vision but he didn't care; he wanted to watch Sherlock fly.

….

John was exhausted but it was a sweet kind of pain; his out of shape body was screaming at him to stop but his desire to keep going made it possible. He had pushed Sherlock on the swings until he was sure that his arms would fall off, went down the slides no less than 100 times, went up and down on the tetter totter until his head was spinning and was now running after Sherlock even though his legs were already aching. He was in a small amount of shape just because he and Sherlock did so much running around on cases but most of his time was spent in sedentary activities. Right now he was running on the fuel of Sherlock's laughter and he was sure that could get him going permanently. They would need all the help that they could get sleeping tonight anyway.

"Better run faster…you'll never catch me daddy!" Sherlock teased, looking back at John only for a fraction of a second before turning around and running full speed.

John had to grin; little shit. He knew John never could run as fast as he could. There was no way he could keep up with those long legs of his. Sherlock wasn't in the best physical shape either even aside from his health concerns of the moment but he was a better runner than John always.

So instead, John decided to hit him where he knew he could. "Oh no! Someone lost their stuffy. Poor little bear!" John said in a most convincing anguished voice. It was a low blow, maybe, but daddies didn't always play fair anyway, right?

It worked like a charm. Sherlock turned around and stopped cold. "What? Where?" he asked in a sad, concerned voice for the imaginary child that had lost their teddy bear. Poor thing; he didn't stand a chance.

"Gotcha" John said, running forward and grabbing Sherlock around the middle and tackling him to the ground where they both collapsed in a heap of laughter.

"You're a cheater, daddy!" Sherlock protested, head back on the ground rolling as he laughed.

"And you're a little teaser" John said. "I had to catch you some way. Can't get away with teasing daddy."

John was lying mostly on top of Sherlock gazing down at him; his porcelain features, his dark perfect hair, awarding smile that was reserved for John. He was perfect in every way, so pretty it hurt John sometimes. With the worry of what might happen, John felt everything keenly. Sherlock was so impossible; he could be so truly unhuman sometimes. John wanted to believe that he could defy the normal human condition and never get sick, never die. All John wanted to do was grab ahold of Sherlock's neck and beg him not to leave him. For once John wanted to be the needy one and beg Sherlock for something he knew was impossible. But he knew he couldn't do that.

Instead, John settled for holding Sherlock close to him. Actually, he realized it was more like he was smothering him. He buried his face in Sherlock's chest, holding onto him with his entire body. It gave him a moment to compose his face and look normal; it gave him a moment to soak in Sherlock. "Daddy cuddles" Sherlock said. His voice was a little more adult and John knew that he could tell that John was a bit desperate.

Not wanting to prolong it and make Sherlock worry, not wanting to bring awareness to their very near and present problem, John leaned up to look at Sherlock with a smile on his face. "I think someone needs a nappy change" John said. There was a small wet patch on the front of Sherlock's dungarees where John had tackled him and made his full nappy leak.

"You…..you need a nappy change!" Sherlock teased, pointing at John.

"I'm not even wearing a nappy" John said. Oddly enough he wasn't. He wore them more often than not these days; he could probably wear 24/7 and be happy with it but tonight he wanted all focus, even in nappies, to be on Sherlock. "I'm wearing big boy pants so there's only one person here who might need a change. That's the same person who has a wet spot now."

Sherlock, in his innocence and lack of his overthinking brain, looked at John's trousers hoping to find a wet spot but there wasn't one. He looked down at his own crotch and covered the wet spot with his hands. "Well, too bad there's nowhere to change me" Sherlock said in his sassiest tone, wearing a total shit-eating grin. He knew he could get away with anything today.

"That's where you're wrong, genius" John informed him. "I'm going to change you right here."

Sherlock paled a bit. "What? Here? In the middle of the open? Someone could see my….stuff" he said a bit frantic.

John loved it; it had been quite some time ago but Sherlock had put him in this position once. John still remembered the time that Sherlock changed him on the side of the road during a road trip. He'd felt naughty and he secretly loved it; even though he wasn't a little it had put him in a very submissive state of mind. Sherlock never let him forget that he had actually sucked his thumb during the experience. He was in doubt that Sherlock would also very much appreciate the experience of being changed in the open; there was something very infantile about it.

"Well, I seem to remember someone telling me that little boys who were still small enough to wet their nappies had to be changed wherever they were and that no one would blame them because they are just little babies" John shot back Sherlock's own argument at him. "You know no one's going to come anyway; Mycroft has taken care of that. Stay right here, I'm going to get your nappy bag."

John really didn't expect that Sherlock would actually stay put but miraculously when John came back with the bag, Sherlock was still lying in the grass, sucking on the dummy John had clipped to his shirt. When John got on his knees down at Sherlock's feet, he could see how nervous he was, biting on the dummy as he looked around. "Don't be nervous, love" John said, giving Sherlock's belly a rub. "No one at all is going to see you. Mycroft has made this our own little world. What do you think of that? A world with just Daddy and Sherlock?" John used his most comforting voice, hoping to soothe Sherlock. He didn't want this experience to make him worry; he wanted it to make him feel truly small.

It had its desired effect; Sherlock grinned. "A world with just you and me would be the best kind of world" Sherlock said enthusiastically, mumbling around his dummy. He seemed to relax, his body melting down to the ground as he accepted John's words and realized it was okay to let this happen.

John pulled a towel out of the bag and instructed Sherlock to lift up so he could place it under his bum for the nappy change. He began to undo the buttons on the bottom of his dungarees; John had made sure to order them made with buttons for this specific reason. Once the bottoms were out of the way, John pulled the snaps open of his onesie to get to his full nappy. John expected Sherlock to be looking around at the birds or the sunshine; engrossed in some interesting detail around him as he often was when he had a nappy change. He was surprised to find instead that Sherlock was staring at him, attention fully on the task.

John undid the tapes on the nappy and pulled it off of him. John saw Sherlock flinch a bit and noticed the skin around his bits was red and sore to the touch and it made him feel guilty; it wasn't his fault but he hated when Sherlock got a rash. It made him feel like he hadn't been attentive to Sherlock's needs when really he knew it only meant he was irritated from all the messy nappies today one of which Sherlock had hid from him for nearly an hour before John could find him, exasperating the irritation.

"You've got a rash, little one" John said in a small voice. "Maybe we should put you in big boy pants instead of another nappy for a while?"

"No" Sherlock whined, grabbing at himself in what was obvious pain. "I want a nappy"

"I know you do, but you're already starting to get a rash and you know how bad that feels" John said. Sherlock didn't get rashes very often but when he did they were very bad.

"But I want a nappy" Sherlock whined more urgently. He was still holding himself which would have been adorable if John didn't feel so guilty.

"I've got your bee pants in the bag" John pulled them out and showed them to him. "Come on, let's put them on." John had them special made knowing Sherlock would like them and wear them when he needed to have pants on and not his beloved nappies.

"But I have to wee now" Sherlock whispered, his cheeks turning red.

John smiled; that explained the reluctance for the pants and the holding himself. "Then just go wee" John said with a laugh.

Sherlock looked mildly annoyed at John's ignorance. "There is no loo here" he said, gesturing wildly.

"Just go outside" John said, smiling that Sherlock was getting so bent out of shape. He had no problem using nappies or even, unfortunately, peeing at random places in the flat when it suited his fancies but ask him to pee outside and it was the worst thing.

"I can't go wee outside!" Sherlock argued.

"Why not?" John asked.

"I'll be nakey…..well mostly, outside!" Sherlock argued.

John laughed. "Sweetie, all your bits and bum are already nakey so you might as well wee and feel good." He said. "Just go pee behind the tree; plenty of blokes do it."

Sherlock, even little, looked mortified over the idea. "You do it with me?" he asked.

"Uh….sure" John said reluctantly. He couldn't very well tell Sherlock that it was no big deal and then not do it himself.

"Good" Sherlock said, his face brightening with amusement. "I know you use nappies most of the time now and you're not used to holding it, Daddy."

John had to laugh; some part of Sherlock's deducting capabilities was still there. "I guess you're right. I do have to go a bit. But you're putting these pants on when you're done" John felt like he had to make some show of his dominance even though Sherlock was ruling now.

"Okay" Sherlock said. He got up from the towel and took John's hand and pulled him behind the nearest tree, dancing slightly from want to go.

Out of habit, John looked around to make sure that really no one was around before he undid his zip. He closed his eyes and tried to relax; he really did have to go. He forced his mind and body to relax and finally he was able to let out a stream. When he heard suspiciously no sounds from Sherlock, he opened his eyes to find the little detective watching him very pointedly. "Hey, now! Stop staring at me and go wee" His cheeks blushed at the very pointed attention being drawn to his crotch.

Sherlock laughed. "Okay, Daddy" he said. He pulled up his shorts and onesie so that his entire lower half was exposed, flashing his bum to the entire world, and immediately began to wee freely. As John zipped up, he was stricken with the strong suspicion that Sherlock maybe hadn't been nervous about peeing outside after all. Maybe he just wanted to John to go too.

As soon as Sherlock was done, John surprised him by grabbing him and pulling him close. Placing an innocent kiss on his mouth, John smiled at him. "I think you tricked me" John said. "I think you like watching me"

Sherlock laughed, his voice slightly adult for a moment. "Grown up Sherlock likes it" he said with a bratty turn of his head.

Something inside John low stirred even though he didn't want it to at the moment. It had been nearly a year since he and Sherlock had been an official couple but they still hadn't had sex. Lots of snogging; brain melting snogging really. Sherlock was ridiculous at snogging; but it was always with clothes on and never anything more. That was okay; he knew what he was getting into when he got into a relationship with Sherlock. Sherlock felt romantic attraction very strongly; ironically enough. He was very connected with John on an emotional level and John loved that. Sherlock just experienced very little sexual attraction to anyone or anything. It didn't help that, being a virgin, he was very self-conscious about actually doing anything with John who he considered 'must know how to do everything, you've shagged tons of women'. John tried to assure him that wasn't the case; it hadn't been 'tons of women' and he had never been with a man at all. It was strange really; he had no desire to be with men at all. Just Sherlock…..like everything else, Sherlock broke the mold. But John did not share Sherlock's lack of arousal and he was beginning to wear thin. He'd never pressure Sherlock to do it but there was only so much satisfaction he could derive from his own ministrations. He was a bit desperate these days.

"Well, maybe grown up Sherlock should tell me that and we could…..experiment….with that" John said, doing his best to use his daddy voice and not let his thoughts run wild and make him get carried away. Not now.

Sherlock just grinned like the little tease he was. "Maybe big Sherlock will"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far :) hope you're enjoying. I just made ABDL blog on Tumblr at http://stuckininfancy.tumblr.com/ if you'd like to come and follow me in real life :)


	3. Chapter 3

John was pleased with the state of the restaurant when they arrived; it was another detail that Mycroft had arraigned. Balloons and streamers decorated their table, a cake placed in the middle of the table as if dessert might actually be preceded by dinner which Sherlock would love. John was beginning to suspect that Mycroft really actually cared about Sherlock deep down inside; to have a kids' restaurant decorated up as if it were Sherlock's birthday he had to have a tender side.

When he and Sherlock walked through the door, the man in question was standing over by the ball bit, being thoroughly chatted up by Mrs. Hudson and looking uncomfortable.

"Nana!" Sherlock said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Mrs. Hudson. He took off across the room and nearly threw himself into her arms in a fierce hug. It had been the source of several conversations between him and little Sherlock that he had to be careful with 'Nana'. She was more breakable than Daddy who could be quite hurt by enthusiastic Sherlock's antics.

"Oh there is my beautiful little boy" Mrs. Hudson gushed, hugging him back tightly. "So nice to have all the boys together."

Sherlock pulled back and it was as if for the first time he noticed Mycroft's presence. John watched the two brothers stare at each other, looking uncomfortable and John was afraid there might be some kind of confrontation. John knew that Mycroft had every right to be there; he set all of this up and he was concerned about Sherlock like the rest of them. But that didn't mean that Sherlock would see it that way. Sherlock and Mycroft had always had a strained relationship. After all of this time, John still didn't know the exact reasons for why that was. Sherlock rarely talked about Mycroft; he had mentioned before in passing how Mycroft had known of Sherlock's little side since he was a teenager but had never spoken about it or had anything to do with it. John secretly thought that Sherlock had always wanted his older brother to be part of that special and intimate part of himself and was hurt that he never was. Of course, he never said that to Sherlock; he'd probably get bit for saying that to little Sherlock.

After what seemed like an eternity while John and Mrs. Hudson watched on ready to step in if need be, Mycroft spoke. "Are you having a fun time today, Sherlock?" he asked. He was trying to speak to Sherlock like a child. It sounded forced, unnatural but he was making an effort and that meant a lot John knew.

Sherlock still looked wary. "Yeah….John and I went to the park." He said. Calling John by his name and not by Daddy showed he was uncomfortable enough to be guarding himself.

"That's nice" Mycroft said, going Sherlock a small smile. "What did you two do there?"

Sherlock watched Mycroft as if he was having a hard time holding onto to not being little. "We swung on the swings, went down the slide, ran races" Sherlock said tight lipped.

"John takes good care of you doesn't he?" Mycroft asked. He was getting better at making his voice sound nurturing and Sherlock was losing his control as he did.

Sherlock's hand was still clasped with Mrs. Hudson's and he looked sheepishly at John, smiling. "Yeah he does" Sherlock agreed.

"How nice of him to do all these things with you. All of these plans were his idea" Mycroft said. John appreciated the recognition.

Sherlock looked at John and smiled but he didn't say anything. He hid himself a little further behind Mrs. Hudson; John had never seen Sherlock be this shy. He obviously had no idea what to do with Mycroft playing into his little side.

"I have a surprise for you" Mycroft said, breaking the tension by pulling a box covered in red, shiny wrapping paper. "It's something to help you on your big day."

John could see Sherlock's shyness melt away. "What is it?" Sherlock asked, moving away from Mrs. Hudson and closer to Mycroft, craning his neck to see the box closer.

Mycroft smiled; he seemed to be growing more at ease as well. "Well, go on and open it" he said, handing Sherlock the box. Sherlock dismantled the wrapping paper on the box in two seconds flat and ripped the top off to display the contents. "Oh….Mycroft…" Sherlock said, his voice smaller than John had heard in a long time as he eyes widened in surprise and awe at the gift.

It was one of the cutest little things John had ever seen. Inside the box was an adorable white stuffed rabbit dressed in a yellow, bee covered set of footed pyjamas. Under the rabbit was a matching set of the pyjamas for Sherlock. John knew instantly that he had entirely misjudged Mycroft; whether he'd ever had anything to do with Sherlock's little side in the past or not, he obviously wanted to have something to do with it now.

Sherlock looked on the verge of tears as he clutched the bunny to his chest. "I love it" Sherlock said, his voice quiet and strained. He was usually more exuberant with gifts but it was obvious that he was almost speechless. In the next few moments Sherlock got up from the floor, bunny tucked under his arm and gave Mycroft a strong hug. It was the most affection, really the only affection, John had ever seen the two brothers display. Mycroft had come to see Sherlock in numerous hospital stays but their interactions even then had always been somewhat cold.

As Sherlock embraced Mycroft, he froze for a moment and John was afraid he might pull back. When Mycroft's arms came around and tentatively hugged Sherlock back, John felt his pained heart warmed.

"I'm glad you like it, Sherlock" he said softly.

….

"Falling apart yet, John?"

John didn't look to the elder Holmes brother standing next to him; his eyes were transfixed on the younger, jumping up and down in the ball pit, throwing his bunny in the air while Mrs. Hudson lavished praise on him. He wanted only in this moment to be happy; to watch Sherlock play and laugh and not think about why they were doing any of this.

"I'm terrified…obviously" John said, still not looking at Mycroft, trying to ignore the stone in his stomach and the dry throat he had. Why was Mycroft making him think about this? He would have known without even asking exactly how John felt about all of this.

"He'll be okay" Mycroft said pensively beside him. It wasn't he kind of empty promise that people said just to make you feel better. It was Mycroft saying it as much for his own benefit as for John's.

"There's really no other option" John said, is voice hollow as he watched Sherlock's curly head stick out from under the balls in the ball pit. There simply wasn't any other option than that Sherlock would be okay. John couldn't imagine living in a world that did not contain Sherlock. He and Sherlock had become linked so that it was like they were symbionts of one another; one could not live while the other died.

"I really thought this was a bad idea in the beginning" Mycroft spoke after a long pause. "I thought it would only make him more complacent…..a thing that was never good for him in the past."

John knew exactly what he was referring to. Mycroft thought that his and Sherlock's age play wasn't a good idea in the beginning because he thought Sherlock would become lazy while John cared for him. In the past, Sherlock's laziness had led to one thing; drugs. But Sherlock having someone to care for him had cut down his dangerous behaviors to almost non-existent.

"I can see now that I was….incorrect" Mycroft said reluctantly. "The relationship that I see in you and Sherlock now….its unlike anything else that I've ever seen"

It was a ringing endorsement from Mycroft and it was completely true. What John and Sherlock felt for each other exceeded any other relationship that he could imagine.

John's eyes were still trained on Sherlock who now had begun to climb the nettling surrounding the ball bit. "Sherlock, get down from there!" John called loud enough that Sherlock jumped down immediately. It was obvious Mrs. Hudson wasn't going to do it; she was too busy laughing at Sherlock's antics. She was Nana, after all; unless something was an immediate, pressing danger like shooting the wall or licking the beakers, Mrs., Hudson let him do whatever he pleased.

When John turned toward Mycroft, he could see him fix him with a calculating stare. It was like Sherlock's deductive look and John tried to not be self-conscious. "It's fascinating, watching the two of you like this" Mycroft said with a smile on his face.

"Like what?" John asked because he couldn't help it.

"You really care for him like he's your child" Mycroft said, all of the pieces coming into place. "And yet it's more than that. It's a lot more than that; you two really have what people desire to have."

What did that mean? Connection? True intimacy? John figured that was what he had to mean. If that was then case then he was correct. He and Sherlock really did have those things.

"I regret I never took place in all of this before" Mycroft said. John actually detected sadness and loss in his voice so much that John had to stare at him for a moment. They both knew what was unsaid in Mycroft's words; he regretted not being a part of Sherlock's little side before because if he was really ill he might ever get the chance.

"You could always come by sometime" John suggested, looking back at Sherlock so he didn't have to look at Mycroft. "I'm sure that Sherlock would enjoy that."

Mycroft laughed slowly. "He doesn't seem very open to that idea" he said.

"He's only guarded because he thinks you don't approve of his little side" John said honestly "If you come around and show him that's no longer the case, I'm sure he'll warm up"

Mycroft actually smiled a genuine grin. "I'm might have to take you up on that, Dr. Watson" he said in an amused tone.

…

John wasn't the least bit surprised when Sherlock fell asleep on the ride back home. The exuberate play at the park, the lavish dinner and desserts, the games at the restaurant had thoroughly exhausted him. Sitting in the quiet of Mycroft's car as the driver took them home, Sherlock leaned against John and quickly nodded off. John stared down at him, the innocence and ease on his face in sleep, unable to tear his gaze away. Sherlock clutched his bunny close to him, drooling and making the chocolate on his mouth begin to run. He was the picture of innocence; John wished that he could freeze him like this and shield him from everything that would make his face contort with worry.

When they arrived home, John helped a sleepy Sherlock get out of the car. Sherlock was only half awake as he leaned on John to get him up the steps and into their flat. John's legs ached as he supported Sherlock up the stairs and he longed to go to sleep but he knew this wouldn't be an easy night. He wondered if he would sleep at all.

John had hoped to give Sherlock a bath before bed but he could see that wasn't going to happen; Sherlock seemed no more awake as he helped him into his bedroom as he did in the car and John just settled for a simple run over with a wash cloth.

As John laid Sherlock down on his bed, he felt guiltily happy that Sherlock was nearly unconscious. He felt selfish but he enjoyed having him like this in this moment; he was grateful that he could do everything for him. He wanted to cherish every part of Sherlock now; though he'd never admit it, he felt like those moments were numbered.

In this moment of quiet aloneness John could allow his worry to show on his face. His stomach twisted, his heart raced and he felt the grip of panic closing in on him. He'd been avoiding thinking about it too much because he knew if he really took time to consider how worried he was about Sherlock, he would unravel. What would he do? What would his life be without Sherlock? He'd opened himself up to Sherlock so much that he didn't know who he was without him anymore. The idea that Sherlock could be deathly ill, that John would be forced to watch him grow sicker and sicker before he died was too much to handle. John pushed the thoughts away as he felt tears trying to come to his eyes. He was a solider and a doctor and he had to call on his deepest strength to keep going for Sherlock's sake.

Sherlock was drowsily in and out of sleep as John worked to get him ready for bed. John had a feeling that Sherlock was pretending to be sleepier than he really was because he kept seeing slivers of his eyes look up at John as he worked but that was okay; John wanted to do all the work. He carefully took off Sherlock's now filthy dungarees and onesie, going slow and gentle so that Sherlock didn't become too awake. He tossed the clothes in the floor before going to Sherlock's training pants and slowly sliding them off. They had a small wet spot on them but were mostly dry and John marveled a bit; after the day Sherlock had had it was a wonder he'd stayed dry all this time. Had he been awake, John would have praised him; Sherlock hated wearing pants while he was little. But his nappy area was still thoroughly red and inflamed and though John wanted to give him the comfort of a nappy he needed to air out. John would have to make him go to the toilet before bed and he dreaded that.

But before he had to fight Sherlock to go to the toilet he wanted to clean him up and just take time to lavish the gentle attention on Sherlock that he never allowed him to. John went to the bathroom to get a wet flannel and a towel and came back to clean Sherlock up. He started on his sweets covered face and worked his way down. He rubbed his face until he it was pink and clean, down over his neck and across his pale chest. He ran it along his arms and carefully along each finger, going slowly. He barely touched his belly, trying not to tickle Sherlock, before giving his nappy area and privates extra careful attention. John's stomach twisted as he looked at the inflamed flesh there; he always felt terrible when Sherlock had a nappy rash. Though he knew it wasn't true, it always made him feel like an inattentive caregiver. He cleaned him carefully and then patted nappy cream on the area; Sherlock never let him be this attentive and he was taking advantage of it.

When John was done washing him, he dried him off slowly with the towel. Standing back and just staring at Sherlock, John felt his heart give a painful almost physical wrench as the pain inside him wanted to break free. He knelt down on the floor next to the bed, laying his head on Sherlock's stomach and bringing Sherlock's hand to his mouth. He gently kissed his soft skin, closing his eyes as the pain washed over him. Sherlock was perfect….He was too perfect to be taken from this world. Surely some force in the universe had to see that. John lost track of how much time he let his head rest there, on Sherlock's warm, too small stomach, kissing any bit of skin he could reach. He wanted to soak in the warm, breathing, living feel of him and know that things could never change. It took all of John's resolve not to dissolve in tears.

When John was finally able to pull away, reluctantly, he gave Sherlock a gentle shake. "Sherlock…..wake up for a moment. You need to go to the loo." He prodded Sherlock softly.

Sherlock weakly swatted at his hand. "Tired….." he said, curling up on his side.

"You can't wear a nappy so you have to go wee" John said, half heartily. "Then you can go straight to bed."

"No….." Sherlock whined, curling up further in a half big and half little voice.

John felt his own tiredness so keenly from the emotional toil of the day and he just wanted to fall into bed with Sherlock. He wanted to sleep until the nightmare of what could be happening went away. But even with his waning brain powers he got an idea, one that made him even smile a bit.

"Hey Sherlock" John said, sitting next to him and smiling at him. "What if I get your big boy potty and daddy goes with you?"

Sherlock had always hated the kid's potty chair that John had bought him; he was too interested in nappies. But he'd been so keen on John weeing with him he thought this might be enough to tempt him.

And at least this time, John was one hundred percent correct. "Okay" Sherlock said brightly, sitting up with a tired smile.

"That's a good boy" John said encouragingly. He got off the bed and went to the closet to retrieve the rarely used potty chair. He came back to the bed and placed it in front of Sherlock on the floor. Sherlock was still lying on the bed but he was grinning.

"Help me daddy" he said, holding his arms up. He didn't really need help but, as he always did, John helped him anyway. He put his arm around Sherlock and helped lift him ups so that he could wee.

"I'm not going until you do, daddy" Sherlock said with the smallest trace of a smile, looking at John out of the corner of his eye.

"You little sneak" John said. He recalled the look Sherlock had given him earlier. "Alright, alight"

John unzipped his pants and willed himself to go before he could be worried about it. He could see Sherlock smiling at him wickedly out of the corner of his eye as they both quickly filled the potty chair.

"There's a good boy" John said, giving Sherlock a weary smile as Sherlock flung himself back on the bed. He could feel his fatigue setting in even though he didn't want to give in to sleep and the eventual day tomorrow.

Sherlock was yawning wide, his eyes red as John retrieved the pyjamas that Mycroft had given him.

"Let's put on your beautiful new pyjamas" John said more brightly than he felt. Sherlock gave a small smile as he sat up, helping John put his arms and legs into the warm pyjamas. Sherlock looked up with a smile as John finally zipped up the pyjamas and John had to admit it was one of the cutest things he had seen on Sherlock.

"I look good daddy?" Sherlock said in a childish voice.

John felt a lump in his throat of worry and sadness but he smiled. "You look beautiful, sweetie" John said honestly.

John stripped off his shirt and jeans to get into bed into his pants; he had no energy to get his pyjamas. John turned off the light in the room with silence and climbed into his side of the bed. He was surprise when Sherlock climbed in the opposite side of the bed and turned his back to John. John felt a slight pain at the supposed rejection, when all John wanted to do was cuddle Sherlock, until he heard the sound of sniffling in the bed beside him.

Sherlock was crying; what was even worse was he was crying and trying to hide it from John. He'd no doubt been holding on for John's sake just like John had been holding on Sherlock's sake. The second that the lights had gone out, he'd not been able to hold on. John was sure that this had nothing to do with little Sherlock and everything to do with adult Sherlock.

"Sherlock…..come here" John said. He let his voice be normal, to let Sherlock know that he was open to him showing his true self as an adult. Usually, it was just easier for Sherlock to talk about and express feelings as a baby than adult but he had made progress.

Sherlock didn't respond but the sniffling sounds got quieter as if he was trying to hide it. John rolled over toward Sherlock, putting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. John was glad that small measure of touch caused Sherlock to roll over and face him.

"I'm afraid" Sherlock said. He'd wiped the tears away but the expression of fear was evident on his face. His voice was adult but trembling with fear in a way that John had never seen from him. It made John even more frightened.

"Me too" John admitted. It would do no good to say that he wasn't; it would bring Sherlock no comfort to hear John say that he wasn't also fearful of the possible tragedy they were going to face. Sometimes you had to acknowledge fear to face it.

John scooted close to Sherlock so that he could wrap his arm around his back and pull him close against him. Sherlock leaned into the touch, his fear still obvious. "I don't want to die…not like that" Sherlock whispered so low John could barely hear him.

John felt like what was left of his heart was breaking inside of him. Sherlock wasn't afraid to die; not necessarily. If he was shot or stabbed or murdered by a criminal he could go out in a dramatic and exciting way; he didn't necessarily fear that. But to get sick, to gradually grow sicker and weaker, to die a shell of his former self terrified him. Sherlock's death terrified John in all forms but he could see to Sherlock the manner of his death meant all the difference.

"We will get through this, Sherlock" John said with as much strength as he could muster. "I won't promise you won't get sick. I won't promise that it won't be hard. But we will get through this and I know that for one very important reason"

John hoped that his words conveyed all the passion and hope he poured into them to make them matter and he wasn't disappointed. Sherlock's voice had a trace of hope when he spoke again. "What's that?"

"I love you, Sherlock" John said. "I love you and no matter what happens, I know that we will get through anything because of that. We have faced a lot because we had each other. And this will be the same"

Sherlock didn't say anything and John didn't really expect him to. When Sherlock leaned in and gave John a kiss that made his head spin, he knew that somehow his words had been enough to calm the fear enough.


	4. Chapter 4

John had one of the most unrestful night's sleep he could recall in a long time. All night he had disjointed nightmares that caused him to wake up but that he couldn't recall upon waking. Sherlock slept fitfully next to him, tossing and turning until eventually the alarm went off at the early hour John had set it for. John struggled out of bed to dress, leaving Sherlock hiding in the pillows and blankets for as long as necessary before disturbing him.

John hoped that a warm shower would get his head out of its sleepy fogginess and into a clearer place but he found that the longer he was awake the more his feelings of dread increased. Today would be the definitive proof of the truth and if the truth was bad, there would no unknowing it. It would change their lives altogether.

After John had showered and dressed he felt no better but he knew that he had to face the inevitable. Sherlock groaned as John pulled back the covers but he didn't fight him as John pulled his pyjamas off and helped into his clothes. Sherlock's eyes were fearful but he was eerily silent, choosing to suck silently on his dummy rather than speak; it was fine by John because he had no idea what to say. Even if he had words, John was afraid he might break down if he opened his mouth.

Ten minutes later they were stuffed into the back of a cab in the early morning grey light. Sherlock wasn't acting little; John was sure that he was holding back to keep everything in. But that didn't stop him from holding his blankie and the rabbit Mycroft had given him close to his chest and leaning on John's shoulder during the ride. John looked out the window at the grey sky and watched the rain roll down the car windows, willing himself to keep strong.

John was in haze as he checked Sherlock in and filled out the necessary paperwork. Sherlock had pulled the hood of his jacket up and was hiding his face in his blankie. John's hand shook slightly as he filled out the paperwork and he felt sick to his stomach. It felt like a million years that they sat in silence, both unable to think of what to say, waiting for Sherlock's name to be called. When the time finally came, John wasn't ready for it.

When the nurse called Sherlock's name he jumped in the chair as if he had been shocked. Even after all this time, after all the time as Sherlock's caregiver, it still scared John to see him so unhinged. Despite being the little in their relationship, John based his own wellbeing, perhaps too much, on Sherlock's and it unnerved him to see him so unlike his normal strong self. It was understandable under the circumstances but that didn't stop him from feeling it nonetheless.

"I guess this is it" Sherlock said in a brave voice as he stood up from his chair and tried to smile at John. It came out more as a wince as he handed John his blankie and bunny. John took them, trying to smile back too and failing.

"I'll be right here; waiting" John said, his voice actually coming out hopeful. "It'll be alright; it'll be over before you know it."

The procedure would be over quick but the waiting for the results and the result of the tests might not be over quick; it made Sherlock smile regardless.

John watched Sherlock follow the nurse out of the double doors to the testing area before he let himself crumple and show his despair. Surrounded by dozens of worried and anxious looking people, he didn't have to keep face. They all knew what he was feeling; they were all in the same boat and somehow that made it easier to show how he felt.

John had Sherlock's blankie and his bunny in his lap. He clutched it to his chest, burying his face in the worn, soft fabrics. The blankie smelled like Sherlock and if he closed his eyes he could almost believe that he was with Sherlock and things were alright. But the sounds around him reminded him he was at a hospital and Sherlock was not alright.

Sherlock was his world. People sometimes said that like it was a bad thing. Be independent, be strong; that was the motto of the world. All of that was good but nothing meant anything without someone to share it with. John had been so alone after the war, before he met Sherlock; he had no one and his life was not worth living. If he hadn't met Sherlock, would he have taken his own life? He didn't want to say yes but he thought it was likely the truth. John's whole life was changed when he met Sherlock. He'd come back from the army without a purpose and alone; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the fighting, to disappear into it. Sherlock had given him a new outlet for his love of danger; he'd given him a purpose. But more than that he'd given him someone to care for, someone to love. Even that first night they ran through the streets of London after a killer, the first time he'd killed for Sherlock, his affection for him had begun to grow.

And it hadn't ever stopped since.

….

When Sherlock finally came back, he didn't speak. He took the blankie and bunny that John offered him wordlessly but he didn't speak or even look directly at John. John didn't push it; words were hard even for him. When they got into the cab to go home, Sherlock curled up beside John, laying his head in John's lap.

When the cab arrived at 221B, John practically had to drag Sherlock out of the cab. Once he got him into the dreary air, Sherlock leaned on him as if he wanted John to carry him. John did all he could, putting an arm around him and letting him lean on him.

John could see the signs and he wasn't surprised to see them. Before Sherlock had John to take care of him as a daddy, he would deal with his most extreme emotional issues with drugs. Now that he had John, his drug use had become rarer and rarer. Sherlock could use his age play as a much bigger outlet for his emotions. The more upset he was the more he acted out; John was used to that. But occasionally he would regress even further, acting more like an infant than his usual toddler state. John could see Sherlock going that way now and he was just thankful that he knew how to help him in those times.

When they got into their flat, Sherlock fell onto the floor, curling up with his blankie. He looked so pitiful, so hopeless that it broke John's heart. He knelt next to Sherlock, taking his hands.

"Come on, love" he said, "Let me help you up."

Sherlock started to cry, a weak whimpering cry. He didn't make any effort to help John so he took Sherlock's hands himself and pulled Sherlock up. He leaned on John again as he helped him to his room. His cries began to get louder, gesturing wordlessly toward the sitting room, getting frantic. John looked back to see his blankie and bunny lying on the floor.

"I'll get them, sweetheart. But let me get you to bed first" John said. This didn't seem to console Sherlock; he continued to wail loudly.

John shuffled Sherlock to bed as quickly as he could, setting him down. "I'll be right back, let me go get your things" John said loudly over the sound of Sherlock's crying.

John went to retrieve the blankie and bunny. When he came back, Sherlock was lying back on the bed crying. "Here you go, Sherlock" John said encouragingly, putting the blankie and bunny in his arms. Sherlock took them gratefully, burying his face in the blankie. His crying subsided slowly as he did so.

John felt so powerless in their current circumstance but he could at least be an oasis for Sherlock. As Sherlock cuddled his blankie, trying to soothe himself, John gathered up his nappy and onesie. Sherlock was mostly quiet when John returned, watching John with one eye behind the blankie.

John took off Sherlock's adult clothes; he was sure that he heard a small sigh behind Sherlock's blankie as his adult self fell away more with the clothes. He didn't help John as he tried to put the nappy on him, and John didn't expect him to when he was this young; John struggled the nappy under Sherlock and secured it in place. Carefully he worked the onesie over his head and through his arms, fixing the snaps in place over his nappy.

John didn't often swaddle Sherlock because even at his littlest he didn't seem to like not being able to move. But John had a feeling that this might be one of the times he would appreciate it and he wasn't wrong. Placing the blanket under Sherlock, he pulled it from one side and then the other, making sure it was tight. He placed Sherlock's arms over his chest before wrapping the blanket around him securely.

"There you go, nice and warm and snug" John said with a smile to Sherlock. When Sherlock smiled back at him, John knew he was on the right track.

John turned out the lights so that there was only the dim light from grey day filtering through the curtains and turned on one of Sherlock's gentle lullaby CDs. As the quiet music began to play, John could see that Sherlock was already closing his eyes and beginning to look sleepy.

As quietly as he could, John snuck out of the room to the kitchen to make a bottle for Sherlock. Sherlock was usually too much of a 'big boy' to want bottles and John had to admit that he always had a soft spot for the moments when he was little enough to curl up to John and let him feed him a bottle.

John was feeling his own emotional weariness wearing him down as he returned to the room. It was dim and calm and he quickly took off his shoes and trousers before slipping under the covers of Sherlock's bed. The previous night and that morning had been hell; so emotionally draining and difficult and more than anything John just wanted to curl up next to Sherlock and forget for a moment that they were anything but happy.

When John got comfortable under the covers, he put his arm around the huge, Sherlock-bundle and turned him toward himself. Sherlock's eyes, red and tired, briefly open and looked at John with sorrow but contentment at least for that moment, before he closed them again. When John worked the nipple of the bottle between his lips, Sherlock took is gladly and began to suck on it gently.

John wanted to tell Sherlock that he was scared, that he was afraid of losing this. He wanted to tell him how much he was afraid of losing him and the closeness that they had. But as he looked at the bundle in his arms, fully adult but fully childish, the person who needed him to be strong, he knew no good would come from that. So instead, he just petted Sherlock's hair and whispered love and assurances until they both finally fell asleep, knowing those were the words that his baby needed to hear.

…

John had been dreading the next couple of days, knowing that they would be waiting around for results of Sherlock's tests. He was relieved when Mrs. Hudson woke them early the next morning and told them that they had a client waiting on them. They had dressed quickly, shedding all physical or mental bits of littleness and went to see their client. They'd met with a woman who was positively hysterical. Her daughter had been kidnapped and she felt the police weren't helping as they should be. John felt guilty for being even a little happy about a kidnapping but for the next three days, he and Sherlock had been completely consumed with finding the little girl. Sherlock had been in his professional element, brilliant as ever, and John felt it safe to say that he wasn't thinking about his own problems at all.

Sherlock had been on form and so they had located the girl who had been given a clean bill of health and reunited with her mother. John and Sherlock were in good spirits as they returned to the flat with some Angelo's. In light of a job well done they were looking for some relaxation. Even John had mostly managed to forget about their troubles until Sherlock's mobile rang.

John felt a punch to the stomach as he saw the look of worry cross Sherlock's face. "It's the doctor's office" he said, all of his anxiety rushing forward again.

John swallowed past a painful lump in his throat. "Well, answer it. Let's see what they have to say" John's voice was steady but inside he felt his emotions running amok.

Sherlock nodded woodenly, answering the call. When he went into his room, John wanted to follow him but he stayed in the sitting room and waited for Sherlock to break the news to him, whatever the news was.

John began to pace a small circle around the sitting room, his heart racing. As many times as he had given out bad news like this to a patient, he really hadn't ever been so unfortunate to be the recipient of such news. He felt both far away, as if in a vacuum, and hyperaware; he could feel his blood pumping in his ears, hear the minuet sounds of the clock ticking and smell the take away so strongly that he felt like he might be sick.

It felt like forever before Sherlock finally emerged from his room though John knew it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. When Sherlock came into the sitting room his face was an unreadable mask for a horrifying few seconds as John's mind whirled through the possibilities. Then, he broke into one of the biggest smiles that John had ever seen.

"It was benign" Sherlock said, his smile increasing all the while. "I don't have cancer"

Relief flooded through John like an adrenaline rush, making his legs feel weak and his head spin. All of the worry, all of the horrible possibilities that he had conjured up in his mind weren't going to come to pass. Sherlock wasn't going to die….John's world wasn't going to come to an end.

"You're alright? Completely alright?" John asked, hardly hoping to dare that it could really be true. The hell of the past few weeks was one he didn't ever want to live through again.

"I'm completely alright" Sherlock declared. A second later, John was rushing toward him and wrapping his arms around him.

"I'm so relieved" John admitted, his arms tight around Sherlock, his face against his shoulder. "I was so scared" Now that the danger was over, John could finally admit it. He felt himself lean heavier on Sherlock who held him tightly in his arms; John felt completely content.

"Me too" Sherlock admitted, holding John tighter, so tight that it almost hurt. But for once, it was a good kind of pain.

….

A week later, John was glad to be spending a quiet Saturday at home with Sherlock. Well, quiet as opposed to being worried about Sherlock's health or quiet as opposed to searching London for a homicidal maniac. It really wasn't that quiet sharing a flat with an overgrown toddler but John was happy for this kind of noise. He was on such a high to have things normal again that he didn't even tell Sherlock off even though he was running around the flat with his wagon full of toys, crashing into the furniture every couple of seconds.

John was trying to clean the kitchen but not making much headway for wanting to watch Sherlock so much when he heard a knock at the door. John left the dishes in the sink and went to answer the door, startled as he opened it.

"Mycroft….what are you doing here?" John asked. He tried to sound genuinely curious and nothing else but he knew Mycroft would be able to see how surprised John was to see him here.

Mycroft always cool of composure, looked uneasy; if John didn't know better he'd almost say Mycroft looked nervous.

"I was very relieved to hear that Sherlock was not ill" Mycroft said, looking curious at the sounds of Sherlock banging around the flat. "It had me thinking…..a bit. About what you said…..about coming around more. That perhaps if I did, Sherlock might get used to me being around his….his…."

Mycroft seemed lost for the word so John supplied it. "His little side?" he said, trying to hold back a wide grin.

"Yes" Mycroft said. John had never seen him look nervous or out of place but he certainly was now. "So…could I come in? If it's not an inconvenience."

John smiled; just having Mycroft asking to come in rather than barge in himself was a change. "Of course you can" John said, opening the door wider and letting Mycroft in.

Mycroft walked uncertainly around the room, looking at the toys and various sippy cups and dummies lying around. Sherlock was doing a round around the table with his wagon as John called out.

"Sherlock, you have a visitor" John said. He watched as Sherlock ran into the sitting room, his face full of unbridled youngness. When he saw Mycroft, he instantly became guarded. John saw him look down self-consciously at his clothes; he was wearing his onesie-skirt combo that John had gotten him when he discovered that Sherlock liked girls' things. Not to mention the unmistakable nappy beneath it.

John watched a long look pass between Sherlock and Mycroft and felt himself grow nervous. The two geniuses were obviously both having a lot of thoughts on the matter but John was lost to what they might be. Mycroft had said that he wanted to be part of this so that was a good thing but John worried that if he didn't take it exactly as Sherlock wanted him to, Sherlock would push Mycroft further away.

John was glad when Sherlock found his voice. "Hello, Mycroft" he said, his voice polite and cordial but he was toying with the end of his skirt so John could tell that he was nervous. He knew that Mycroft would know that and more.

"Hello, Sherlock" Mycroft said, his voice careful as Sherlock's, fidgeting ever so slightly himself. He gave Sherlock a long, careful look. "I like your dress."

Sherlock's cheeks pinked slightly. John wondered if he was thinking about the clothes and the connotations they had. Sherlock had admitted to John once that Mycroft used to dress him up and tease him. Though it had been traumatizing it had obviously left some kind of a psychological impression. "Thank you" Sherlock said simply. John thought that the fact that Sherlock didn't correct Mycroft by telling him it wasn't a dress, it was a skirt, showed his nervousness.

"Are you feeling well? I was glad to hear that everything at the hospital went well" Mycroft said. John couldn't read Mycroft's expression but it was obvious Sherlock could because John could see tears gathering in his eyes though he didn't let them fall.

"Yes….I'm feeling very well." He said, his voice strained from the want to cry. Coughing and looking away, Sherlock glanced down at his wagon. He pulled his bunny, the one Mycroft had given him, out and held it. "I've really liked my bunny. I named him Nikola"

Mycroft smiled, seeming relieved that some of the tension was gone. "After Nikola Tesla?" he asked with a grin.

"Of course" Sherlock said, giving Mycroft an eye roll but it was playful. "Would you like to see some of my other toys?"

Mycroft looked touched; John could tell that he knew that it was more important than just the toys. Sherlock was slowly sharing some of his little side. "I'd love to see them" he said truthfully, following Sherlock toward a pile of toys in the corner.

John sat down in his armchair, smiling as he watched Sherlock sharing his toys with Mycroft. He could see the happiness that both Sherlock had for being accepted and that Mycroft had for being let in.

Life wasn't always perfect with a genius toddler as a roommate but as John relaxed and watched Sherlock try to play with Mycroft he reflected that most of the time it was as close to perfect as life could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this installement of little Sherlock and John. Hope I didnt put your emotions through the ringer too much; I never could have permanetely hurt dear Sherlock!

**Author's Note:**

> I left the details of Sherlock's illness vague because I didnt want to do injustice to a serious illness and the focus of this story is primarily on the emotional aspects of possibly having a major illness so I left it ambiguous. Thanks for reading!


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